


Super(hero)natural

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are drifters, moving from state to state and using their Powers to help catch some bad guys. When Dean's undercover, working in a coffee shop, things take a little turn for the unusual: the blue-eyed, dark-haired man in the tan trenchcoat definitely isn't your average customer. As they start to get to know each other, Dean finds that the mysterious Castiel has hidden depths... and realises that perhaps he himself does, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Super(hero)natural

Dean stirred his cup of coffee, slowly. He was on a break, another barista covering his place behind the counter whilst he took five minutes to regain some equilibrium. He knew that the arrival of fall always made the coffee shop busier, but today had been another level of crazy. And there had been that spillage, right in front of the till, that he’d had to clean up, which had meant that the cappuccino machine had overflowed, and he’d had to mop that up too whilst being grumbled at by the loud-mouthed customers waiting for their drinks…

All in all, as covers go, this was one of the worst that Dean had ever had. Going undercover was one thing, but being completely humiliated was something else, and Dean was losing patience with being treated like trash just because he couldn’t make up someone’s double-caramel mocha frappuccino in two seconds flat. He was going to call up Sam as soon as he got off work today, and tell him that the coffee shop was a bust. The guy they’d been chasing wasn’t here; he’d probably caught wind that the Winchesters were in town and headed on out, like any smart scum of the earth would do. They could be on the road again by sundown, on the lookout for other people who needed their help – instead of being stuck in coffee shops, working hard for bad pay and lousy tips.

They’d arrived in town a week ago, on the hunt for a guy who’d apparently been abducting men and women, with his preferred hunting grounds being coffee shops. Sam and Dean had considered simply being customers at the coffee shops, but had decided that they’d be able to get closer to the customers – and potential suspects – if they were serving them behind the counter. Besides, it wasn’t as though they couldn’t use the money. Sam had used his Power to get them both jobs in different coffee shops on the East side of the city, within walking distance of the coffee shops where the last three victims been abducted. The guy never went to the same shop twice, and seemed to like working within a certain radius around his last successful kidnap. It wasn’t much to go on; Sam and Dean had always known that it would be a long shot – and it seemed as though the shot had missed. There were other places they could be, other people who needed help. Dean felt the itch in his feet, the desire to get moving. This place was stiflingly boring, he was tired of counting down the hours until his shift was over, of dealing with rude and impatient customers, of making freaking coffee.

“Dean, you’re back on in a few minutes,” Dean’s co-worker said as they brushed past him, scooping up a stack of plates and moving back over to the counter. Dean shifted from one slightly-painful foot to the other, wishing that there were a place that he could sit down whilst he was on his break. He cast his eye out over the coffee shop, wondering if there was a quiet table near the back where he could sit for a moment. As he looked out, he noticed someone walking into the shop out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see them fully.

 _Holy crap._ Dean swallowed and gripped his spoon tighter; he’d nearly dropped it on the floor for a second there. The guy who’d just walked in was… _incredible._ He had wild, messy brown hair, a full mouth, a sharp jawline and a sharper suit under the big tan trenchcoat that he was wearing. The guy glanced quickly around the coffee shop before heading towards the counter. His walk would have drawn Dean’s attention, even if the rest of him hadn’t already managed it: he moved strangely, as though his centre of balance were somehow slightly different to the average human’s. The effect was eye-catching, but not inelegant. As the man approached the counter, Dean hastily put down his undrunk coffee and hurried forwards.

“I got this one,” he muttered to his co-worker, who looked surprised but made way for him. Dean quickly busied himself behind the espresso machine as the guy stared up at the board, making his choice. The man’s eyes were narrowed, as though he suspected the coffee board of potential trickery; they were bright blue, Dean could see at this distance, the most intense and clear blue that he’d ever seen in his life. Dean licked his lips, cleared his throat and moved out from behind the espresso machine, leaning one elbow casually on the counter and smiling.

“There’s no wrong answer,” he said. “They’re all delicious.”

The man looked down at him in surprise, not returning Dean’s grin. After a long moment, his gaze flicked back up to the board.

“I have never ordered coffee from this kind of establishment,” he said, and Dean almost melted on the spot because _oh god,_ his voice was so low and a little rough and completely delicious, seeming to reach a space right at the back of Dean’s mind and fill it right up. Man, if hearing him talk about coffee could do that, just imagine what it’d be like if he was saying something a little different – maybe lower, and closer, muttering a string of hot words into Dean’s skin…

“The cappuccinos are good,” he managed to say, his voice coming out a little higher in pitch than usual. He frowned and cleared his throat, and went on in a deliberate growl, “Or maybe a latte macchiato. If you’re new to coffee, that’d be a good place to start.”

The man hesitated before nodding, looking right into Dean’s eyes again in a way that set his heart beating fast, little butterflies of pleasurable nerves flittering around in his stomach.

“I’ll follow your guidance,” the man said in his dark-chocolate voice, and Dean beamed at him.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the stools that were tucked under the long counter. The man pulled one of them out and climbed awkwardly onto it, as though he’d never done it before. Watching him, a horrible suspicion formed in Dean’s mind; he hastily blotted it out. There was no way that this was the guy that he and Sam had been looking for. He didn’t look like the kind of person who would abduct innocent men and women from coffee shops.

Then again, thought Dean as he prepared the latte macchiato, no one at any of the abductions had mentioned seeing anyone suspicious around the place. It was one of the things that had drawn him and Sam to the case; the few baristas who had noticed the victims leaving the coffee shop gave wildly different descriptions of the person who they had left with. So that meant that either there was some kind of cult or group of people who were kidnapping people together, or there was one perpetrator, and it was able to change its appearance. Dean eyed the man sitting on the stool. He seemed neither threatening, nor insane; in fact, he just looked a little awkward and confused. Dean shook off his worries. He was being overly suspicious, here. The guy just wanted a coffee.

“Here you are,” Dean said, sliding the latte macchiato over to the guy with a smile and waving down his attempts at payment. “No, no, on the house, I insist. You enjoy it, now.”

For the first time, Dean saw a spark of a smile light up behind the guy’s eyes. His lips didn’t even twitch upwards, but there was a definite warmth to the way that he looked at Dean before looking down at his coffee. At least, that’s what Dean told himself.

There were another few customers waiting to be served, so Dean didn’t get much chance to talk to the guy for twenty minutes or so. He watched the man, though, who seemed to be spending most of his time looking out over the coffee shop floor, checking out all of the customers carefully. A couple of times, Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising with a tingle, and turned round to find the man watching him intently as he poured together a piping hot Americano, or swirled cream on the top of a sweet cappuccino. There was a straightness to his shoulders, a lack of self-consciousness in his stare that made the blood rush to Dean’s cheeks. He offered the guy a smile and thought he saw a faint upward curve of the lips before the man turned away to look over his shoulder again, out over the crowded coffee shop.

Business started to slow half an hour later, and the man was still there. Dean decided that now would be a good time to start cleaning out the cappuccino machine. This was a decision based entirely on efficiency, of course, and had nothing to do with the fact that the man was sitting right next to the machine, looking down at the dregs of his drink.

“You enjoy that?” Dean asked, flicking his gaze over to the guy for a moment. The man nodded, swirling the remaining liquid at the bottom of his cup.

“It was very good,” he said gravely. “Delicious.”

“That’s good to hear,” Dean said easily, looking back down at the machine in front of him, wiping it over with a dishcloth. “So, you’ve never been to a coffee shop before?”

“Not that I can remember,” the man said, and there was an element of bitterness to his tone that Dean didn’t really understand.

“Well, that sucks,” he said. “Coffee is delicious. You want me to make you another cup? I can give you the full experience, if you want.”

He risked a wink at the guy, and saw the flicker of warmth that he’d noticed before flare up again, stronger than last time, and accompanied by the tiniest of smiles. Oh, he was getting somewhere, all right. There was no way his was the only heart in the room beating three times too fast.

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice a little softer, more private than before. “But there’s somewhere I have to be.”

Dean felt his heart drop a little as the man stood; suddenly the butterflies in his stomach seemed to have lead weights attached to their wings.

“Another day, maybe,” he said half-heartedly. It was too soon to drop the guy his number; they hadn’t talked enough, and it would look as though he was coming on too strong. He was going to have to watch this guy walk right out of his life.

“Tomorrow?” the man said, and suddenly Dean’s heart was up in his throat, and the butterflies were reeling around inside him in a giddy fever once more. He suddenly realised that his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Sounds perfect. I’ll be here all day, so drop by whenever.”

“I will,” the guy said solemnly, and walked out of the coffee shop. Dean watched him go, his chest full of an emotion he could barely name, hot and strong and strange, like a brimful cup of blackest coffee.

**

The next day, Dean turned up early for the first time since he’d got the job at the start of the week. Sam had watched him walk out the door of their motel, looking bewildered.

“I thought you wanted to leave ASAP?” he’d said, just before Dean had slammed the door.

“I did,” Dean had said, taking a step backwards so that he could smile down at Sam from the doorway. “But, uh… I think I might have a lead. Someone a little strange came to the shop yesterday. I think I have to check it out, Sammy. For the safety of the people.”

Sam had narrowed his eyes.

“Is this to do with a girl?” he’d demanded.

“No,” Dean had answered truthfully, beginning to close the door.

“Is it to do with a guy?” Sam had hollered, but Dean had closed the door and cheerily called back,

“See you this evening, Sammy!”

So here he was, at work early just in case the guy worked nine to five and was planning on dropping in beforehand. He wondered if he was going a little too far with this kind of thinking, but then he remembered the guy’s eyes, his hair, the way that he’d smiled a little. So tentatively, as though he’d never done it before. Just thinking about it made Dean’s heart twist.

He worked hard all day, but the man still hadn’t shown up by the time two o’clock rolled around. Then again, Dean thought, he’d first arrived at about three-thirty the day before. He might easily still be planning to turn up.

It was as he was making what felt like the thousandth frappuccino of the day that Dean heard the scream.

His head snapped around; he was immediately alert to any danger. The scream had come from outside; Dean did a quick scan of the coffee shop, but no one seemed to be using the scream as a diversion. Everyone was peering out the window, stretching up tall in their seats, a few actually walking over to get a better view. Dean cast a quick final glance around the shop before pulling off his barista’s apron and stepping out from behind the counter. He pushed through the jumble of tables and chairs, making for the door as fast as he could. Walking into the outside air felt like jumping into a cold swimming pool; Dean shivered and chafed his bare arms for a moment before giving up and reaching for his Power, even as he surveyed the street around him. Almost unconsciously, he felt the molecules of air around him, the way that they vibrated and moved. He reached into them, pushing them apart, pulling energy out of himself and feeding it into them. When he relaxed his mind, the air around him was warm, a little bubble of heat in the cold November afternoon.

He still couldn’t see the cause of the disturbance, however. The street looked clear, everything normal… until a parked car pulled away from the kerb, and Dean saw a woman sitting on the sidewalk, her face tear-stained, and – Dean gave a little grunt of surprise. Beside the woman, with one hand on her arm, was the man that Dean had spent all day looking out for. His blue eyes were scanning the street, looking fierce and troubled, even as he comforted the woman.

All of Dean’s suspicions about the man resurfaced, and multiplied a hundredfold. Was he checking the street for witnesses, before abducting the woman that he’d just attempted to incapacitate? He looked wilder, more feral and more… dangerous, somehow, than he’d seemed the day before in the coffee shop; suddenly, Dean’s rejection of his possible guilt seemed foolish, the act of a smitten teenager rather than a full-grown man with responsibilities. Dean squared his shoulders, and began to cross the street, moving his cloud of warm air with him without even having to think about it.

“Hey!” he called, as soon as he was within earshot. The man’s head snapped around, and his intense blue eyes locked onto Dean’s. They narrowed, and Dean noticed his hand tighten on the woman’s shoulder. Dean thinned his lips, and raised his arms out from his body a little, making himself look as big as possible.

“Are – are you the police?” the woman on the ground said, her voice shaky with tears. Dean was on the sidewalk now, only ten steps or so from where she was sitting, with the man bending over her protectively.

“No, ma’am,” said Dean, making his tone as soft and unthreatening as he could. “But I am here to help you. Do you think you can get up?”

“I – I don’t think so,” she said, pushing her blonde hair out of her face and struggling to stand for a second before giving up. “I twisted my ankle. Someone came out of nowhere and tried to pull me, and when I hit him, he ran away.”

“You managed to hit him?” Dean said, impressed. He noticed now that she was cradling her bruised knuckles. On one of her fingers, she was wearing a ring. “Where?”

“On the face,” the woman said, and Dean offered up a silent thanks to whoever might be listening.

“That means he’ll have a cut on his face, from your ring,” he said. “Did you call the police already?”

“I did,” the man from the coffee shop said, still eyeing Dean, but with less hostility and more wariness, now. “They will arrive soon.”

“Great. Why don’t you –”

“Don’t tell me what to do," the man said, without inflection. Dean blinked. "I’m going to look around and see if I can find anyone with a damaged face,” he said, and Dean nodded.

“Yep, OK, that’s good too,” he said, moving over to bend down beside the woman on the floor, as the man stood up and stepped away. “I’ll stay here and – uh – help.”

The guy looked Dean over carefully for a long, long moment before nodding and saying,

“I’ll be within earshot.”

Dean wasn’t sure if that was for his own benefit, or the woman’s. He realised suddenly that to the man, he might very well have seemed guilty himself. Standing outside on the street when he was supposed to be working, coming over, maybe trying to get the woman on her own… the man had probably suspected Dean just as much as Dean suspected him. Both of their faces, however, were unblemished, which put them beyond suspicion. Unless the man could disguise himself, or heal himself…

Dean turned his focus back to the woman, who was clutching her fingers and whimpering a little, obviously trying to be as quiet as possible. Dean knelt down and put his hand lightly on her arm.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently. “It’s OK. You did great. You’re safe now.”

The woman looked up at him, her mascara stained down her cheeks, her lip trembling. Dean’s hand tightened a little on her arm, and he smiled.

“You know, I’ve been told I have the healer’s hands,” he said. “Dumb superstition, but still, I bet that hurts. Want me to have a go?”

The woman seemed on the point of saying no, but Dean’s smile was warm and inviting, as was the little cloud of air that he was expanding to fit her in, too. She stopped shivering, and nodded slightly.

Dean moved his hand to rest lightly on the woman’s fingers, careful not to press too hard and hurt her. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, feeling for the shape, the texture of her skin, the bones underneath it, the nerve endings. He couldn’t take away the evidence of the assault or else the police wouldn’t bother to pursue the attacker, but he could alleviate her pain; with care, Dean took a little of his energy and used it to swiftly cauterise the nerve endings near the knuckles. He heard the woman give a little gasp of surprise, and opened his eyes to look at her.

“That hurt a bit,” the woman said. “But I can’t feel anything now. What did you do?”

Dean smiled confidently, taking his hand off the woman’s fingers.

“I told you, healing hands,” he said. “Want me to do your ankle, too?”

“I… sure,” the woman said. “What is it, like, reiki?”

“Sure,” said Dean, concentrating once more. The ankle was bad, worse than twisted; the woman must have fallen very awkwardly, because there was a hairline fracture at the bottom of the bone at the back of her leg, he could feel it. He couldn’t just leave that unfixed. Dean drew on his energy once more, and sent it vibrating into down his fingers and into the woman’s ankle, sealing the bone neatly back into one. It would still be painful, though, so he cauterised the nerve endings there, as well.

“You might get a little numbness,” he said, opening his eyes a little before he finished his work, this time. “It’ll fade, but be careful not to overstretch yourself just because you can’t feel the pain. The doctors will take care of you, though… that guy did call an ambulance, too, right?”

The woman nodded mutely, and reached out to hold Dean’s hand.

“Thank you,” she said, as they heard the sound of sirens approaching. “Thank you.”

“You take care of yourself, OK?” Dean said. An ambulance pulled up right next to them, and a couple of paramedics jumped out. “You did great. Take it easy.”

The woman clung on to his hand, even as she was being lifted onto a stretcher.

“Thank you,” she said once more, as the paramedics wheeled the stretcher up into the ambulance. This time, though, she was looking over Dean’s shoulder. Dean span around to see the man from the coffee shop standing behind his right shoulder, watching the woman depart with a strange expression on his face.

“She seemed much calmer,” he said in his strange, low voice, completely devoid of any telling intonation that would help Dean divine what he was thinking.

“Yeah,” Dean said, with a shrug. He stifled a yawn, feeling the usual tiredness that always came with using his Power. “I just talked with her a little.”

“That was kind,” the man said, as though it were some kind of revelation. “You are a kind person.”

“Hey, you’ve only known me a day,” Dean joked. “I might still be a raving axe-murderer, you never know.”

The man paused a moment before turning his head to squint at Dean in confusion.

“Are you?” he asked.

“What? No, man. I’m just… just Dean.”

“Dean. Your name is Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly, wondering if the guy had suffered some kind of blow to the head. “My name is Dean. What’s yours?”

The man looked troubled.

“They call me Castiel,” he said.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Castiel. Kind of a mouthful, but I like it. You wanna come inside and get a coffee?”

“That is why I was in the neighbourhood,” Castiel replied, and together they crossed the road, heading back into the coffee shop. Dean slipped behind the counter once more, pulled his apron back on, and got to work.

“You were gone a long time,” his co-worker said, as they moved past him. “What happened?”

“A woman was assaulted, out on the street,” Dean said, not sparing them a glance. “I waited with her until the ambulance came. Sorry it took so long, I’ll get back to it now.”

“Did they catch whoever did it?” they asked, but Dean ignored the question. Castiel was sitting on the same stool as yesterday, looking expectant. Dean moved towards the cappuccino machine, smiling as he went.

“So, yesterday was a latte macchiato,” he said, as the machine began to steam. “Today is going to be a cappuccino. Cappuccinos are still very sweet and foamy, but they’re stronger. Let’s see if you like it.”

“Cappuccini,” Castiel said.

“Huh?”

“Cappuccini. The word cappuccino is Italian, so the plural is cappuccini. It also means capuchins,” Castiel finished. “The species of monkey.”

“Well, now,” Dean said, pouring out the coffee and grabbing a jug of milk. “Aren’t you just a mine of information.”

Castiel looked confused.

“I’m not supposed to know that?” he said. Dean looked at him, frowning as he steamed the milk.

“You know what you know, dude,” he said. “There’s no ‘supposed to’ about it. Look, are you OK? Did you… I dunno, man, did you take a really strong painkiller, or something? You seem a little out of it.”

Castiel’s eyes went fractionally wider – was it with fear, Dean found himself wondering? But what could Castiel possibly have to be afraid of?

“I apologise for acting strangely,” Castiel said. “That was not my intention.”

“Not a problem,” Dean said easily, trying to relax the guy. He was sitting strangely on his stool, slightly hunched over, his big trenchcoat rumpled down his back. “We’re all a little weird. Let me just finish fixing this coffee for you.”

Dean rested the tip of his tongue on his upper lip as he poured out the milk into the coffee, swirling it and blending it carefully. When he was done, he picked up the shaker full of cocoa powder and poured a little of the contents into his palm, before pinching some of it up with the fingers of his other hand and sprinkling it deftly into the coffee. When it was finished, he put the cup onto a saucer and slid it across to Castiel.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, looking down at it. “It has a pattern on the top.” He swivelled the cup round, trying to make out the picture, before enlightenment came. Dean was watching him, wringing a tea towel in his hands a little nervously.

“It’s a smiling face,” Castiel said. Dean grinned.

“Yep,” he said.

“Why?”

Dean was a little stumped by the question. He frowned at Castiel.

“I guess – just because it’s nice to look at,” he said. “Or it’s supposed to be.”

“But why a smiling face?” Castiel asked earnestly. The person sitting on the stool two along from him gave him an odd look. Dean felt a strange protectiveness surge inside him; despite the fact that a large part of him agreed with the look, he carefully kept his own face free of contempt.

“I dunno, man,” he said. “It means something good. It’s what people do when they like things, they smile.”

Castiel looked thoughtful for a moment.

“You smile at me a lot,” he said. “Does that mean you like me?”

Dean went bright red and dropped the tea towel. He bent down quickly to pick it up, almost dropping it again when he laid it neatly on the counter next to the cappuccino machine.

“Look, I got a lot to, uh, to do,” he said. “Gotta check the, um, the stores, you know. Make sure we have enough – enough coffee. Because this is a coffee shop. It’d be dumb if we ran out of… OK. I’m just gonna…” Dean turned tail and disappeared from behind the counter, leaving Castiel looking confused behind him.

“Take over for a sec, would you?” he muttered to his co-worker as he passed. “I’m going out back.”

He pushed open the door to the area behind the coffee shop. He paused in the lobby, staring blankly at the wall, not really seeing it, lost in his thoughts.

What the _hell_ had happened there? That sort of question was exactly the kind of thing he’d been aiming for since the guy had first walked in the day before. It was a gold-wrapped gift, waiting to be unwrapped. Dean should have given some suave, sweetly-phrased answer, and he would’ve had Castiel’s number inside ten minutes.

Castiel. The name sat awkwardly in Dean’s mind, too long, too formal. Castiel himself didn’t seem to like it that much, either. Cas would be much easier, Dean decided. He’d call him Cas from now on. Not to his face, of course, but just inside his own head. Which was probably the only place he’d be talking to the guy at all, he reminded himself, given the fact that he’d just spooked like a startled deer at the first mention of liking him at all. Castiel – Cas – probably thought that Dean didn’t like him, now. The thought made Dean feel angry, to a degree that seemed out of proportion to the situation. He should go out there right now, he thought, and fix it. He should tell Cas that he liked him. The guy was so clueless, he’d probably have no idea of the ramifications, anyway. Yeah, he could do this. Dean pushed open the door back out to the coffee shop. He was going to walk right over to where Cas was sitting, eyes on the floor, and then look up and say –

Nothing. Dean stared at the empty space where Cas should have been sitting.

“He left,” said the customer who was sitting two stools along, the one who had sneered at Cas about the smiley face. “You totally blew it, dude.”

Dean couldn’t even summon the will to be mad at her; he was too busy being mad at himself. She was right. He had totally blown it.

Well, that settled things, at least, Dean thought. He and Sam could leave this evening. He’d managed to offend the only reason he’d had for sticking around, and it wasn’t likely that he’d come back. Dean wasn’t going to torture himself by waiting at the coffee shop tomorrow, and then the day after, and the day after that. He had to get out of here, before his heart had a chance to realise what it had nearly had, and what it had lost.

**

The next day found Dean making espressos, and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Sam, we gotta get going,” he’d said, the night before.

“No, Dean.”

“There’s no reason for us to –”

“You said a woman was attacked literally _outside your coffee shop,_ Dean.”

“Sammy, it was nothing. Probably just a hit and run. She was fine, and –”

“Is this about the guy you like?” Sam had said sternly.

“I – not – well, a little,” Dean had replied, abashed. “It didn’t work out.”

“That sucks,” Sam had said, and had managed to sound as though he really meant it. “Want me to make you feel better about it?”

“No, no,” Dean had said, waving Sam’s hands away. Sam’s Power to be able to influence the emotions of a person with just a touch was very useful, but Dean usually clung onto his bad moods with a kind of miserable pride. “I’ll be OK. You’re right. I’ll go to work tomorrow.”

And so here he was, making coffee as usual. He was starting to relax into the life a little more now, though there was still something bothering him about the place. Maybe it was because he was used to moving around much more often than this; usually, a job took no more than a day to figure out.

Whenever the door tinkled open, Dean found himself looking up, hoping to see that big trenchcoat, strange walk and a pair of bright blue eyes. He was disappointed all day, though – of course he was, Dean thought angrily. He’d managed to ruin whatever had been building between him and Cas in the space of thirty seconds. His talent for destroying things was growing all the time. Soon, he’d be able to screw something up just by looking at it. Babies would start crying when they saw him in the street. He’d sour milk and putrefy fruit as he walked past supermarkets. If he bought a lottery ticket, he’d win – and accidentally crash the economy by doing so.

Dean cleaned the cappuccino machine with unusual vigour, muttering vague abuse at himself as he did so.

“I believe you will break the machine if you continue to do that,” said a low, rough voice from behind the machine.

Dean laid down his dishcloth very, very slowly, and then looked up. Peering at him over the top of the cappuccino machine was a pair of intensely bright, extremely clear blue eyes.

“Cas!” Dean said, a little too loudly, drawing the attention of a few of the customers sitting at nearby tables. Dean didn’t care; Cas was _here,_ and he was going to be able to make up for what he’d said. He was going to get that man’s number, even if it killed him.

Cas’ face changed a little, shifting subtly, and Dean realised that he’d accidentally used the shortened version of his name out loud. He cursed mentally; if anything was a giveaway that he’d been thinking about Cas a lot, this was it. No one comes up with abbreviations for names that they never think about.

“Hello, Dean,” said Cas, passing over the moment as though he hadn’t noticed, for which Dean was grateful.

“Hey there, Cas. Want a coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Cas replied, sitting down on his stool.

“What happened to you yesterday, man?” Dean asked, as he turned on the machine. “When I came back out, you were gone.”

Cas frowned.

“I was called away,” he said. “My… my bosses are very strict. They told me that I had to return to work at once.”

“Man, they sound like some real hard-asses,” Dean said sympathetically. “That sucks. Hey, listen… uh, about yesterday. I’m – I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

Cas looked surprised; he tilted his head to one side in a way that made Dean’s heart squeeze.

“Why not?” he said. “I thought my question made you uncomfortable. That is a valid reaction.”

“Yeah, but it’s not – that’s not how I really…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. He felt the blush in his cheeks rising, felt the urge to run mounting again. What the hell was _wrong_ with him? He could be Mr Smooth and Confident around just about anyone but this guy. His words just wouldn’t seem to come out right… and then a thought occurred to him. He paused, and then after a moment, he looked up at Cas, and simply smiled.

It was a pretty poor smile, nervous and hesitant. Cas looked confused for a moment, but then he saw understanding flick across his face. Dean watched him swallow, and then – miracle of miracles – Cas smiled, too. Badly, like his muscles just weren’t used to the movement, but it was definitely a smile.

“You got a great smile, Cas,” Dean said, and was rewarded by seeing the tiniest touch of pink in Cas’ cheeks, a fractional widening of the smile.

“I haven’t done it before,” Cas said. “I never found something I liked enough.”

Dean stared at him, lost for words.

“I’m gonna make your coffee now,” he said, after a few moments. Cas nodded, his expression slipping back into its customary solemnity.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said.

When the coffee was ready, Dean decided to hand it to Cas, this time, instead of pushing it across the counter. He tried to find a decent excuse for doing so, but failed, and had to admit to himself that he was just hoping to have Cas’ fingers brush against his own for a second or two. Jesus _Christ._ There was something about Cas that turned him back into a fifteen-year-old loser with a twelve-ton crush sitting on his chest.

He held out the cup, and Cas obediently lifted up his hands to meet it. Their fingers brushed, just as Dean had hoped that they might… and as they did so, Dean found himself pushing out with his mind, searching through Cas’ physical structure, his particles, his heart, up to his head, his mind –

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, and almost dropped the coffee cup. Cas grabbed it, and laid it carefully down on the counter, looking at Dean with concern.

“Dean? Is everything alright?” he asked, frowning. Dean swallowed, unsure how to answer. The shape of Cas’ mind, the way that it was made, it was – different. It was as though bits had been patched on, and other parts had been shaved away. It wasn’t a normal human mind, that was for sure; Dean hadn’t been able to tell, since the contact had been so brief and the point of touch was so far from Cas’ head, but it had felt as though there was some severe damage to the front part of his brain – scratches, almost lacerations, as though someone had struck it repeatedly.

“Dean?” Cas repeated, sounding even more worried. Dean pulled himself out of his reverie, looking over at Cas.

“You –” he tried to begin, and then failed utterly. How do you tell someone that you sensed their brain through their hand – and that it was messy and damaged? There was no way he could bring that up. It was probably something very private that had happened to Cas, maybe as the result of some disease. If Cas wanted to talk to him about it, he could, but Dean couldn’t force that topic. After a moment, he nodded, and smiled weakly.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Sorry, I just… realised something.”

It was a lame excuse, but it was the best that he could come up with when Cas’ eyes were fixed so intensely on his own. Dean turned away, and began making coffee for a person who had just walked up to the counter.

“You forgot to collect my payment,” Cas said, raising his voice a little over the sound of the espresso machine. He pushed a handful of green bills across the counter.

“No, no,” Dean said, waving it away. “You don’t pay here. I’m giving it to you, it’s on me.”

“Dean, I want to,” Cas said. “You’ve already done the giving. Now it’s time to take something.”

He pushed the bills a little further over the counter, his expression determined. Dean sighed, but reached over and pocketed them. Cas might be strange and confusing, Dean found himself thinking, but at least he wasn’t a bad tipper.

“Dean?” said Dean’s co-worker, from behind him. Dean turned.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping an eye on Cas, who was sipping his coffee with obvious enjoyment. Dean smiled to himself.

“Do you think you could come outside with me for a second?”

“Sure, why not,” Dean found himself saying. He frowned.

“Great,” said his co-worker. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dean said, his mouth moving almost of its own volition. He scowled, feeling frustrated, and looked over at Cas. Cas’ expression darkened as soon as he saw Dean’s, and he cocked his head in a silent question. Dean began to take a step over towards him, but then his co-worker’s hand landed on his arm.

“Come with me,” they said, and their voice was warm, and sweet, and lulling. Dean felt his thought processes slowing.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, a little dreamily. He heard the scrape of a stool being pushed back, but the sound barely registered. Lazily, he flicked his mind towards the hand on his arm, sent his consciousness up towards his co-worker’s brain. Maybe it’d be shaped strangely, like Cas’…

Dean took a step backwards, doubled over, fighting back a sudden surge of nausea. His co-worker’s brain was… twisted, and blackened, oily and broken and slick with strange chemicals that Dean didn’t understand. His step backwards had broken the contact that the creature had had on his arm, and Dean backed away now, trying to look at the thing’s face properly. He realised suddenly that he’d never actually looked his co-worker in the face; they’d always just been there, helpful, quiet, filling in when he needed it, gaining his trust.

This was the monster that had been abducting people, he realised. And all this time he thought he’d been looking out for it, it had actually been watching him, getting to know him. Lining him up as its next victim.

He tried to focus on its face now. Its skin seemed to flicker and warp, vacillating from black to white to brown, the eyes shimmering and changing colour and shape, insubstantial as rainbows seen through a spray of water. The creature opened its mouth, and Dean thought he caught a sickening glance of teeth, many, many teeth, before the illusion snapped back into place and he was looking at a pair of plump, human lips, and now a wide, thin smile, and now a tiny, lip-glossed pout…

Dean retched; he couldn’t help it. The creature was disgusting, and had an air of _wrongness_ about it that filled him with horror. Its eyes were the worst; no matter their exact appearance, they were always filled with a vicious, single-minded malevolence. On its cheek was a single spot that didn’t seem to be distorting like the rest of its skin; instead, it seemed stuck on a shiny, liquid-looking black. That must be where the woman’s ring had grazed its face, Dean realised, when she had hit it. He shuddered at her bravery. Dean had fought against dark things and cruel people before, but he’d never seen anything like this.

“Dean!” said a voice behind him, a voice he recognised, loud and full of urgency. As if in a dream, Dean turned, and saw Cas heading round the counter. Behind him, Dean could see that the coffee shop was still full of people, drinking and talking and laughing as though nothing was happening. Dean watched them for a moment, horror-struck, before he felt something heavy collide with his stomach, sending him crashing into the coffee machine. Several mugs fell to the floor, and the coffee shop went silent.

“Run!” Dean found himself shouting. “Get out, get out!” A few people stood up, but most just looked confused. With a little grunt of panic, Dean reached out with his mind, seeking the little white box on the ceiling above him. It was harder to manipulate the world around him when he wasn’t touching it directly, but it wasn’t impossible; with a force of will, he gave a little of his energy to the air in the sensors inside the fire alarm, making them denser and denser, thickening them and packing them together until –

The fire alarm’s wail was like a clarion call. As one, the people in the coffee shop stood up and moved towards the exit, fast. Dean risked a glance over his shoulder – why had the creature not attacked yet? – and found himself staring at the back of Cas’ head, and the crumpled, uneven back of his trenchcoat. Cas was standing in between him and the monster, and Dean realised that it must have been Cas who had shoved him out of the way, behind him, to safety. Dean had no idea how Cas had known that the co-worker was a threat, but somehow he’d understood, and now he was trying to protect Dean.

“Cas,” Dean panted. “Cas, you can’t fight it –”

“Stay back, Dean, it’s not human,” Cas said urgently, not looking around. He was beginning to slip first one arm and then the other out of his trenchcoat.

“I know!” Dean said. The creature flickered out its tongue; it looked short, pink and human, but then seemed to twist and writhe for a moment, unfurling into a long, black, oozing ribbon. Dean reached out a hand and pulled on Cas’ shoulder, dragging them both out from behind the counter and into the centre of the coffee shop, knocking over tables as they went. The creature followed them unhurriedly, a look of malicious confidence in its eyes.

“You can see its true form?” Cas said, pulling off his suit jacket. “You can see what it truly is?”

“Uh – uh, bits,” Dean said, one hand on Cas’ shoulder; Cas shrugged him off as he took off his tie and began removing his shirt. “Cas… why’re you...?”

“Get back,” Cas warned, as he slid the shirt from his shoulders. “Get back, and close your eyes!”

The creature had started to advance a little faster, now; it was almost on top of Cas. Dean tried to reach out with his mind, not understanding how Cas could possibly face this horrifying creature – and in that sweep of his mind, Dean understood what was going to happen, seconds before it did.

Cas threw his shirt away, and as he did so, there was a great rushing, unfurling sound. Wings seemed to explode from his back, unravelling so fast that Dean barely blinked and there they were, the tops almost brushing the ceiling as Cas fanned them out to their fullest extent, puffing up his chest and making himself seem as big and terrifying as possible. Blue lines seemed to be running across his body, into his wings, and Dean realised that they were his veins; he was seeing Cas’ blood, lit up from inside like electricity.

“This is a fight you cannot win,” Cas said. “The Paradise Corporation demands that you surrender yourself. You are a failed experiment. You must be terminated.”

The creature hissed a laugh.

“You think I’ll come easy?” it said, its voice alternating between low and high, sweet and guttural. “I don’t want to die, Castiel. Would you?”

“I haven’t disobeyed my masters,” Cas said, though Dean noticed the whitening of his face, the way his mouth tightened.

“Not yet,” snickered the creature, the two words rolling off its ribbon-tongue in a deep, pleasant voice like red velvet. “You will.”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” said Cas, looking furious.

“Not yet,” repeated the creature, its tone now light and sing-song, the voice of a little girl. “You will. If you terminate me, that is.”

Cas reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a short, sharp silver blade. Cas flicked it over in his hand, and it seemed to grow longer, more lethal-looking.

“I am not afraid to kill you,” he said. “You were threatening the life of this man.”

“Tasty morsel,” the creature said, grinning revoltingly. “But you’ll be even more delicious, Castiel. I always wanted to eat another experiment. What was it they did to you? Gave you wings, and destroyed half your memories in the process, wasn’t it?”

Cas seemed to be hesitating; Dean could feel his resolve wavering as he allowed himself to be drawn into conversation.

“They had to patch in a new part of my brain,” he said. “A part that could control my wings. They accidentally erased some of my memories. Since then, they have frequently found it useful to repeat that process, when I become too… troubled.”

“Troubled,” the monster said. “Yes, I knew you would be.”

Cas lashed out suddenly, the tip of his blade raking along the creature’s shivering, glistening, oscillating skin. It cried out and lunged forward, its mouth opening wide, impossibly wide, teeth aiming for Cas’ shoulder. At the last moment, Cas ducked aside, and the monster’s jaws clacked shut harmlessly on nothing.

“Troubled, Castiel!” it shouted. “Of course you’re troubled! You know that the genetic experimentation at Paradise Corporation is sick and twisted. Even more sick and twisted than I am.” The creature laughed. “Are you going to let them make you into a killer, Castiel? Are you going to kill me, a person who was once _innocent_ , before they reached into my head and broke it up and played with it?” It sounded angry now, its voice rough and thick. “Are you going to be obedient forever?”

“I want to let you live,” Cas said, and Dean felt a little swoop in his stomach. The creature could not be allowed to continue, and if Cas wasn’t going to finish it off, then he, Dean, would have to somehow find a way to do the job…

“But,” Castiel said, “you have killed many people, and threatened the life of someone I like. You cannot be allowed to continue. Even without Paradise Corporation’s orders, I would hunt you down and kill you like the piece of vermin that you are. We were all experimented on, but not all of us turned out like _you_.” Cas flipped the blade in his hand once more, so that it was pointing down, ready to strike.

The creature shrugged, suddenly airy and unconcerned once more.

“So be it,” it said, and leapt forwards.

Cas brought his blade up, but just in time; its hilt struck the monster a blow across the face, but its teeth sank into Cas’ shoulder and latched on. Cas yelled and raised his knife, as blue blood began to pour down the back of his shoulder. Dean was on his feet, picking up a chair and running. The creature’s teeth bit down harder, and Cas staggered with the pain, his hand losing its grip on the knife. Dean hefted the heavy mahogany chair in both hands, and with a shout of anger he brought it down, hard, on the monster’s head.

It dropped Cas’ shoulder, slowly, and turned to face Dean.

“Leave him alone,” Dean said fiercely, as Cas sank to his knees.

“Dean – Dean, you can’t –”

“It’s OK, Cas,” Dean said. “It’s OK.” He had no plan, not even the remotest conception of one, but he felt as though he needed to project a strong image, since Cas was obviously not going to be able to continue fighting. He looked weak, and Dean suddenly wondered whether the creature’s bite was venomous.

“It’s OK, it’s OK,” the creature jeered. It reached out one arm behind it, the skin and muscles stretching impossible far, pushing on Cas’ shoulder so that he swayed violently where he was kneeling. “You don’t stand a chance against me, Dean,” said the monster. Its voice had that thick, sweet, syrupy texture to it again, the lulling quality that made Dean want to relax, relinquish control, and do whatever the creature wanted. “You’re going to lose. Surrender to me. Let me finish off Castiel, and I’ll let you live.” Dean watched hazily as the monster’s flickering human hand solidified into a long, black talon, that hovered right over Cas’ heart. “I promise, Dean, I’ll let you live.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas said, looking right into Dean’s eyes. “You can let it win – you can live –”

The monster laughed, and to Dean the sound was like sinking into a bubble bath.

“Brave little mutant! I think he _likes_ you, Dean! Not that he’s truly capable of liking anything, after what they did to his brain…”

Dean frowned. There was something wrong, there. He tried to refocus his eyes, tried to find Castiel’s face in the warm, honeyed haze. Two blue eyes pierced the blur, and then Cas’ whole face, sad and brave and… smiling.

“No,” Dean whispered.

The monster seemed to freeze.

“What did you say?” it asked.

“I said, no,” Dean repeated, a little louder, keeping his eyes fixed on Cas’ face.

“Dean, there’s no way to beat it!” Cas said desperately, the smile gone. “You can’t fight it! Let it win!”

Dean licked his tongue over dry lips, tasting static and heat in the air. He began reaching inside himself, pulling on every ounce of energy he had, ready to give it all. The creature was advancing towards him, its arm stretching so that one talon still rested over Cas’ heart, the other reaching forward, reaching for Dean…

Dean looked down at Cas, and smiled.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said, and blew up the room.

Energy pulsed out of him in a circular band of power, radiating out like an earthquake’s shockwave with Dean as the epicentre. He concentrated hard, the power screeching through him, sawing out of every muscle, burning out of every inch of his skin; his hands shook, but he was careful, keeping the wave flat as a disc, so that it passed right over Castiel’s head, and only hit the one living thing in the room standing as tall as Dean was.

The creature stood no chance. The wave was a vicious punch, an unstoppable force that flung it across the room like a rag doll. It smashed into the door of the coffee shop, and there was a nasty cracking sound. The wave rolled on, smashing the windows, scattering glass over the floor; the walls, solid cement, gave a low, calcified grumble.

Dean stood absolutely still in the centre of the chaos for a moment. A hot lick of liquid slipped down his cheek; one of the shards of glass had sliced open a cut on his forehead. He stared over at the creature’s body; it lay unmoving, its skin uniformly and repulsively black and glistening. There was a dark pool of oily liquid growing around it. Dean felt the nausea rising inside him again, and switched his gaze down to Cas, who was still kneeling, his hair windswept.

“You didn’t tell me you could do that,” Cas said accusingly, and then collapsed.

“Cas – Cas!” Dean hurried over, pushing aside a heavy wooden table so that he could kneel beside him. He felt absolutely drained of energy; moving the table expended the very last dregs, and he sank to the ground gracelessly, his knees giving way beneath him. He looked down at Cas, the bite mark on his shoulder, the greyish tinge to his face. He didn’t want to reach out his mind, didn’t want to confirm what his eyes were telling him, but he couldn’t help it. What he found made him blanch. Cas’ heart was beating so slowly that it had almost stopped. His organs were shutting down, one by one, as the venom reached them.

He was dying.

Dean couldn’t help it; a little gasping sob escaped. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, Cas wasn’t supposed to die – they were supposed to have tomorrows, endless tomorrows, days and days to get to know each other, to learn what it was that they’d decided to like, decided to protect, decided to fight for…

“Dean,” said Cas, his voice low and rough, an attempt at his usual tone – entirely for Dean’s benefit, Dean knew, because he could see the effort that it cost Cas not to speak in a weakened whisper. “It’s OK. You did great. You’re safe now.”

“No, Cas, don’t – don’t –” Dean said wretchedly, the tears pouring down his face.

“I’m a mutant, Dean,” Cas said. “It’s OK. I was never meant to last.”

“You’re too good not to,” Dean said, hardly knowing what he was saying, the words pulled up from a part of himself that he didn’t know he had. “You’ve gotta make it, Cas, it’s all my fault, I should’ve just… but I didn’t know that I could do that, I’ve never…”

“You did… great,” Cas said, straining to speak against the closing of his throat. “You… did… great.”

Dean’s mouth was hanging open, crying silently, unstoppably.

“No – no!” he said, as Cas’ eyes closed. He pressed his hands to Cas’ wound, tried to push his energy into it, reach in and seize the poison in his blood… but he couldn’t. His energy was gone, used up in the pulse of energy that had killed the creature.

He had nothing left to give.

“C-Cas,” he ground out. “Cas. Open your d-damn eyes.”

Something fluttered across the room, and into Cas’ face. Dean batted it away furiously, grabbing it in his fist and crumpling it, barely able to see through his tears: a single, green dollar bill.

 _“You’ve already done the giving. Now it’s time to take something,”_ Cas had said. Dean felt his tears begin to stop flowing as a crazy, powerful idea filled his wrung-out mind. He’d never tried it before, but if there was any time to try something new, it was definitely now.

Slowly at first, hesitant, Dean reached out his mind, and instead of pushing out energy, instead of giving, he pulled. He _took._

The energy flowed into him, as naturally and easily as sand falling down into the empty half of an hourglass. Dean felt it come to rest inside him, disbelieving. He paused for a second, and then made a quick sweep of the room. Light, warmth, electricity everywhere. Energy that he could use, energy that he could _take._ With a quick glance down at Cas, Dean clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and ripped the power from the room.

Darkness fell in the coffee shop, despite the sun outside. Dean drew in the light of the sun, and the temperature in the room spiralled down. The microwave and coffee machines shorted out as Dean reached into the wiring and hauled on the energy, blowing the fuses as he tugged greedily at the strands of energy that rippled through from the mains. He took, and took, and took, fast and desperate and dangerous, not knowing when to stop, how to stop, who he should be stopping… he was barely an entity, he was a haze of consciousness, bursting with raw, aching power. He opened his eyes, and felt energy blazing out of them in light and heat.

Moving quickly, he stood, and then reached down and picked up Cas’ body. It felt limp and light in his arms, the wings trailing on the floor. Dean held Cas tight to his chest, the energy beating and roiling inside him, pushing and pulsing, wanting to get out. He couldn’t hold on for much longer, but he didn’t need to; with his feet planted wide and Cas safe in his arms, Dean took a deep, deep, breath… and released the energy.

It poured out of him, not a wave this time, but an entire ocean. The air around him hazed with golden light and burning heat, but he focused his whole mind on pressing the power into Cas’ body, chasing down the poison in his blood and drawing it out, leeching it to the surface of his skin and then burning it away. He remade Cas, created his body anew, sealed up the gaps where the acidic venom had eaten through tissue; he smoothed new skin over his shoulder wound, leaving it fresh and clean; he lovingly reached his mind into Cas’ heart and with a little push of energy, he put a steady _thump, thump, thump_ there. Finally, with the reserves of his power starting to deplete, he turned his attention to Cas’ brain. He could see the lacerations on one of the lobes, and stroked a single, delicate finger of pure energy across the damage. When he had finished, he closed his eyes, and fell to his knees, Cas still held tight in his arms.

After what seemed like an hour, Dean felt Cas stir in his arms. The room was light again, though it remained chilled; Dean felt Cas shiver slightly, and gripped him even closer.

“You… Dean, you…?”

“I dunno,” Dean said. “I did something. I took the energy from the room and I used it.”

Cas spent a few seconds breathing, the air moving cleanly through his fresh, new lungs.

“That’s amazing,” he said, eventually.

Dean hiccoughed a laugh, a noise that he hoped he would never make again.

“I couldn’t let you die,” he said. “I couldn’t just… I couldn’t stand seeing you…”

Cas reached up, and rested his hand on the back of Dean’s neck. Neither of them spoke. They were still there when the ambulance arrived.

**

“So, Castiel,” Sam said, “what now?”

Cas was standing with Dean and Sam, next to the Impala. He and Dean hadn’t even got as far as the hospital; the paramedics had checked Dean over and pronounced him uninjured, and Cas had given himself the same verdict, refusing to let anyone but Dean get close to him.

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “My masters at Paradise Corporation will be expecting me to return to them.”

“Are – are you gonna do that?” Dean asked, squinting over at Cas.

“No,” Cas replied, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “But I do need to disappear. Those paramedics saw my wings, and soon the word will spread. It’s not safe for me in this city – probably in this state, not for a while.”

Dean looked at Sam, who grinned and nodded.

“We just happen to be masters of disappearing,” he said. “You could come with us. You know, if you… if you wanted.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to act around Cas, now. It was hard to know what to do with someone after you’d made them coffee, flirted with them a little, and saved their life from an evil mutant monster.

“I want,” said Cas, at once. Dean beamed. “If it’s alright with both of you, I would love to come with you.”

And so they all piled into the car, Cas in the back, Sam in the passenger seat, Dean driving. They stopped at a gas station thirty miles later, and Dean bought Cas a cup of hot, steaming coffee.

“Not as good as mine,” he said, handing it to Cas, who was leaning against the side of the car while Sam paid for the gas.

“I miss the smile,” Cas replied, looking down at the creamy beige foam.

“I can give you one of those,” Dean said, smiling brightly. Cas looked up at him, and returned the expression, the corners of his mouth lifting and his eyes sparkling with warmth. In the rich afternoon sun, with his hair still ruffled and wearing one of Dean’s old t-shirts with holes cut in the back for his wings, he was the most beautiful thing that Dean had ever seen. They stared at each other for a long moment, before Dean leaned in and pressed a soft, quick kiss to Cas’ mouth. He pulled back, his eyes flicking over Cas’ face, trying to gauge the reaction.

Cas was blushing, and smiling, and looking as though a little piece of the sun had broken off and come to rest in each of his eyes. Overall, Dean thought, the move seemed to have gone down quite well. He was going to do it again, later.

They hit the road again, heading for no-one knew where, listening to the radio.

“What are we going to do?” Cas asked at one point, just as one song came to an end.

“What are we going to do?” Dean said, over the top of the voice of the DJ. “Well, we’ve got one winged superhuman, one guy who can play people’s emotions like a damn piano, and one guy who can pull raw power out of the mains supply and use it to smash bad guys into walls. Isn’t it obvious?” Dean grinned, just as Back in Black began to play on the radio. “We’re going to be superheroes.”


End file.
